


Something to Hold in the Night

by sexonastick



Category: Sports RPF, Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Team Dynamics, World Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexonastick/pseuds/sexonastick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>World Cups are a time for growing. Hope thought she'd learned her lesson in 2007, but Ali is an exceptional exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something to Hold in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don't know: Hope's father passed away in 2007, shortly before the World Cup. Hope eventually criticized some of then-coach Greg Ryan's decisions, resulting in an uncomfortable rift in the team.

It's summer, so no one knows she's been crying. Their faces are as red as her own.

It's summer and the salty taste in her mouth might be sweat or it could be tears. Hope runs around the block a few more times until she's too tired to be sure, bent over and panting, breathless and almost dizzy. She goes home to sleep it off on the sofa, like a hangover she might never wake from. The phone rings and she lets it go to the machine.

It's Abby's voice on the line, saying, "We love you." Saying, "We're all thinking about you."

Telling her that things will get better and that she should take her time. Nobody expects her to make the game this week. Nobody expects her to push herself.

"You're fine," she says. "We'll see you soon."

*

Greg calls later.

He laughs too loud, tries too hard, but it's the effort that matters. Hope could almost smile if she was sure she remembered how. 

"Don't worry about Brazil," he says. "No big deal."

It's June 16th 2007 and Hope's house is empty, just like the gaping spaces in her chest.

She needs to get away from the silence. She needs to be with her team.

So she hops a plane and watches the clouds break apart against the wings, shredding through the sky from LA to New York. She sits in the stands with her brother, their hands held too tight. She squints directly into the sun and thinks maybe someone will mistake it for smiling.

It's summer and everyone's face is as red as her own.

* *

The hotel room is empty. Silent. Hope has the game on but it's muted, reflecting images against the window as she watches people making their way through winding streets, bicycles and cars competing for space. China is laid out at her feet.

She looks up and sees the score painted across the skyline. Norway is winning. The roof of Hope's mouth is dry, papery and worn thin like the little signs fluttering in the wind at the market down below.

Someone is shouting down in the streets. They wave their hands desperately, frantically, but nobody stops to listen. In the sky, her teammates are moving in slow motion.

Hope hears the clock rhythmically ticking away the minutes left in their world cup. She hears the pulsing of her heart and the hum of the air conditioning switching on, but underneath it all she can hear the whistling of grass as well. Close her eyes and she hears the thwack of the crossbar as the ball smacks against it. Close her eyes and she's there.

Lil is running off the field, weaving through the clouds, but before she goes she gives her captain's armband to Bri.

That's for her benefit, Hope knows. They want her to see that they're getting by without her. That she is no great loss after all.

Hope wants to believe it too, to see her defense running without her at their backs and not feel anything. She wants to close her eyes and be content with the lifetime of memories in her head. This is no great loss, she tells herself, and by _this_ she means her team, her friends, the entire life she knew.

The plane rides back are already booked. Two of them: one for the team and one for her. Last night at dinner, she ate alone. Cat almost joined her early on, but a sharp look from Abby sent her scurrying to sit beside Lori at another table instead.

Even her defenders have deserted her. Even Barnie and Phil, who didn't meet her eyes as they passed in the hallway. 

This is no great loss.

In the streets, someone is shouting, but no one stops or turns their head to see.

Up in the sky, Hope's entire world is ending, but life moves on anyway.

*** ***

Four years is a hell of a thing.

Back then Hope wore a black band around her arm to try to stop the aching in her chest. Now the pain is relocated, up her arm and back down along her shoulder. 

Pain like this, she can manage. Just grit her teeth and scream when she needs to. Her defenders are used to that by now.

Hope rides their asses, but only when she's got to. Like she's always said, the job is all about knowing when to push and when to pet. Some of her girls need coddling and others just want respect. 

It's all about learning to read people. Amy is anxious after moving to the outside, so Hope just smiles at her and offers advice; no need to make her extra jumpy. Christie responds well to growls, because it's what she got from Bri. It's familiar, like coming home, even if Hope usually swears more when she says it. Heather is a softy in need of reassurance and occasional sly winks. Stephanie is a workhorse who wants to know that you notice the effort and Buehler is another tricky one, because if you go too easy on her she'll take it as a slight.

Hope isn't the type who offers special treatment. She loves all her girls the same. 

But Ali is another matter.

It's not that she's especially hard to read. In many ways, she's obvious. She has pride, buckets of it, and a work ethic too. Don't sleep on her dedication. She's strong and steady, unbroken and unbending. She's just the type to resent you ever laying off or going easy, but there's something in her eyes that makes Hope hesitate every time she opens her mouth to shout.

Like some of the girls Hope's worked with before, like Hope herself, Ali is her own biggest critic. Her eyes are endless pools of self-incrimination. She's a perfectionist, which is a disease to confidence. Hope's job is to strip her of that, wear down all the natural instincts and impulses.

It's Hope's job to get under her skin, inside her head.

"Hey," Hope says after practice, slinging an arm across her shoulder.

At first Ali looks startled, but that's kind of always the case. Eyes like that only stop looking surprised when they're suspicious and right now they're bright with laughter. She eases into the contact, tongue curling over a long drawn out laugh. "Heeey." 

This might be easier than Hope had expected.

* 

They haven't found a lot of time to talk off the field before, but Hope doesn't think the blame for that lies fully with her. She's busy, always focused on the game. The personal stuff has just kind of fallen by the wayside. She doesn't have time to make friends anymore.

But Ali is another matter, because winning is more important than-- Well, it's really more important than anything Hope can think of at the moment. And if a couple heart to hearts over coffee are all that stand between her and a World Cup trophy, she'll gladly sit and shoot the shit.

Worst case scenario would be if Ali turns out to be really dull. But she isn't. In fact, she's really charming, telling her own stories and laughing at Hope's jokes. She smiles and pokes a croissant around her plate before licking its crumbs from her fingers.

"So you really like Germany, huh?"

"Yeah, I love it." When Ali talks about something sincere, her eyes almost stop blinking. She looks at Hope with all the conviction of a teenager, earnest in that way that leads to careful enunciating. "It's really like a second home to me."

"That's always nice," Hope says, but what she's thinking is how it sounds like bullshit to her. Most people barely fit into a single space without chaffing against its walls, let alone two. What she says is, "You'll have to show us around. Make sure we only eat the good shit."

"Yeah, of course." Ali's stopped eating now that she's being extra serious and there's a small crumb stuck to the corner of her mouth.

Hope licks her lips, watching it, and smiles.

* 

During the bus ride to a game in New Jersey, Hope finds an empty seat left next to Ali and snags it. It's a surprisingly cold day outside for June and they've both got their tracksuits zipped up to their chins. When Ali ducks her head a little, she almost disappears inside it.

"Only a couple more weeks," Hope says conversationally. Ali's eyes look wider than usual when she nods. It's pretty clear that's all Hope's going to get from her, so she adds, "You're not starting to get nervous already, are you?"

"No. What? No," Ali says with her left leg jogging up and down. "Even though that's probably normal. I mean-- I would think it's normal. Normal to be nervous about your first world cup."

"In a month."

"In a _month_." She laughs, slightly manic. "That's so soon."

This isn't going at all like Hope had meant it to. "Hey, just try not to puke and you'll be good. We've still got plenty of time for that. Airplanes and everything." Ali swallows and Hope can actually see the movement in her throat. She hears it, a single giant gulp, and rests her hand on Ali's shoulder. "But you're going to be great."

Ali's not really that much younger than Hope. Age is only a number and if anything she's much more mature. But the look she gives Hope now is so much like the kid she still is. "Great," she echoes, pulse racing underneath Hope's thumb against her throat. 

"No, incredible. Really." Their eyes meet. "I mean it."

When Ali swallows this time, Hope can feel it against her fingers. Their eyes haven't left each other's face since she sat down. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

She smiles, a little strained, but then the moment's passed. The bus pulls up and the wheels whistle as it bumps to a stop. 

Hope drops her hand and grabs her bag from the overhead. She starts down the aisle, but then stops and turns, saying, "But I'm serious. No puking today on my field."

*** ***

It's pretty enough in Dresden, but Ali keeps saying "just wait until Frankfurt."

"One game at a time," Abby says, choosing for now to be wise instead of wisecracking because it's the day before a game and she likes to set the tone early. "We don't want to get too far ahead of ourselves. We'll get to Frankfurt when and _if_ we get to Frankfurt."

"Right. Yeah, I know." Ali turns to Hope, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But I'm serious. It's _awesome_." 

Hope grins and it doesn't leave her face even once Abby is looking. It's the kind of smile that must be infectious because even as Abby rolls her eyes and looks away, Hope suspects she sees the start of a smile forming there.

* 

Hope sits in the hallway with her back against the door. It's ten pm. Does she know where her children are? 

"In bed," she murmurs aloud to no one in particular. "With all the other good little girls and boys."

Except the girls aren't really hers anymore. Hope hasn't felt true ownership of her backline in years, even in the Olympics, and maybe she could try to blame it on the WPS season switching around her sense of scheduling and spaces -- who should be where and when -- but really it's more obvious than that. It's simple.

They were Bri's before they were hers and when she's not there, they answer to somebody else. They were never really hers just like she was never really theirs. Their first choice, their go-to gal, their rock. 

Hope has never been the one that anyone depends on in a crisis away from the field.

But it's ten minutes past the hour the night before they play Brazil and now is not the time to start having her drastic midlife crisis at almost thirty years of age. She needs to get a grip on _something_ , rubbing her hands against her knees just to be distracted by the friction of the denim.

For all her flaws, it's times like these that Hope wishes she could live with just one more vice. She aches for something like a cigarette to smoke or the impulse to bite her nails, just anything to take the edge off would do.

Instead she's got an empty hallway and the cell phone in her pocket with an alarm set to go off bright and early in the morning.

Strike that: a nearly empty hallway.

"What're you doing?"

Hope frowns and tries to look displeased, but she's certain it's more likely to read as sulking. "Who are you, the hall monitor?"

"I heard you talking--" Ali looks around. "... to yourself. Apparently."

"Eccentric."

"What?" 

"I prefer to think of myself as eccentric," Hope clarifies. "Not crazy."

"Oh. Well, good." Without bothering to ask, Ali joins her on the floor, legs crossed so that her knee is pressed against Hope's hip. "What about me?"

"You?" Hope squints when she turns her head. They're so close now that she can see the flecks in Ali's eyes. "What do you-- I'm sorry, what?"

From this close, Hope can see the way Ali's shoulders shift slightly when she breathes in and out, and how her hair brushes lightly against her own neck. She can hear every syllable slowly break against her perfectly rounded teeth, the words slowed and slurred with fatigue. 

"How do you prefer to think of me?"

From this close, Hope can see the goosebumps on her arms when she draws her knees up to her chest and leans against them, losing contact with Hope's side.

"I..." Hope shrugs as she turns her head, watching the pattern of paint strokes across the hallway. "I guess I don't." She can hear Ali breathing beside her, but has enough resolve not to look again. "Not really."

It's silence that follows. Silence except for the whistle of air going in and out, the rustle of clothing as Ali shifts and, Hope thinks, probably starts to stand. She's better off going back to bed anyway.

But when Hope turns her head, she's still sitting there, with that same small smile and expectant eyebrow raise. 

"What?"

"Just waiting for you to tell me why you're still awake."

The adorable kitten routine she does so well is just too much to resist at this time of night, so Hope closes her eyes and slumps into the wall. She knows she must seem like a total grump by now, but then what else is new. She plays that part so well. "I'm mysterious and unpredictable." Ali laughs at _unpredictable_ , but Hope chooses to ignore that. "And-- I don't know. Tomorrow."

Hope feels a hand on her knee, squeezing gently, and Hope has to remind herself not to open her eyes.

"Tomorrow," Ali's voice says softly, as if she's speaking from somewhere far away. "That's so soon."

*** ***

Abby is so proud of her.

It's almost strange to realize that, but the emotion that radiates off of Abby in waves isn't just joy, but also _pride_. And even stranger is how Hope realizes that she's pretty proud of her too. They can't stop touching each other after the whistle blows. The contact is a constant reaffirmation that they are real, that _this_ is real, it's really happening.

Hope knows from experience that it probably won't really hit her until sometime that night or maybe tomorrow. She won't really understand, and she knows that, because right now all she knows is inarticulate undeniable joy.

She kisses Abby's forehead once, not minding the taste of sweat and something that's also almost like grass. She rubs her thumb across it a couple times, holding Abby's face in her hands. "That great big head," she laughs. "That beautiful giant head."

"Hey," Abby says, starting to pull away although she's laughing. "Too many more compliments like that from you and I might develop a complex."

"Enormous--" 

"Uh, thanks?"

"-- but elegant!" 

Abby shakes her head, but still she's laughing and then she's squirming with an armful of Pinoe pinned against her, dragging the two of them apart.

It isn't until later that evening sitting side by side with Bob in the big blue box that they finally see the replay in full, and it's a good thing that they don't cut away for reactions because Hope's mouth is dropped open wide the entire time. It's beautiful. It's really all just so god damn beautiful and this is why they call it the beautiful game: because of how it makes your heart ache close to bursting.

Because of Megan's cross with its precise timing and perfect accuracy. Because of Abby rising up from the ground with sweat and grass and shouts all flying. Because of Hope herself, too happy to feel the pain in her shoulder when she lands and rolls, laughing even as she stands after making the stop against Brazil's third striker. 

Because of Ali, triumphant and smiling, pumping her fist.

"This is our first time seeing this," she says, and she wants to say more, but the words stick inside her throat. She looks over at Abby, hoping she'll pick up the slack, but the look is there in her eyes too.

Saying, this time it's real. This is something worth believing in.

And although it might be strange, Hope's too happy to feel any fear.

*** ***

Ali was right and Hope's starting to suspect that might often be the case.

Because Frankfurt really is worth a world of _just you waits_ , and all the more so because of how Ali can't stop grinning.

She introduces the whole team to her brother, even though they've almost all met him before. She's too ecstatic to be certain, too loud and wild and outside her own skin. Hope laughs and hugs her, holding on tight with a hand against her back, as if to keep her held together.

The longer Ali stays in Germany, the more she mumbles. Her voice starts to drawl and lilt, tripping and slipping into the start of an accent without her being aware. She practically purrs around the words with her mouth stuck in a constant grin so that she talks only out of one side of her face. She links her arm with Hope's and gestures quickly with the other hand, signaling for the rest of them to follow. She's promised a tour and shopping, which was enough to get almost everyone out of the hotel.

Tobin looks every which way, up down and sideways, and still almost manages to trip over her own feet. She stumbles, sways, and is steadied by Boxxy who laughs and quirks an eyebrow. "You okay there?" If Tobin were a little more self-aware, she might blush, but then Kelley appears at her side and all is forgotten. She slips her fingers in between Tobin's and tugs her off to look at sneakers. Carli follows shortly after, adjusting sunglasses on top of her head and pursing her lips.

The only ones really listening to Ali as she talks are Becky and maybe Barnie. Amy's there too, but it's always difficult to tell whether she's tuning in to the same wavelength as the rest of them at any given time. She has her hands tucked in her pockets and shoulders slumped as she strolls. Sometimes her eyes drift where Ali points but other times she hums to herself and starts to wander on ahead.

Pinoe and Lori lag at the back of the line, sharing whispered secrets while giggling, and Abby's become distracted by a ten year old with a bicycle who is eager to show off tricks. Heather tries on a pair of sunglasses and then flips them onto Stephanie's face instead. The defender's expression sours, nose crinkling, but she doesn't pull away from the prodding and teasing. 

Hope has to laugh, elbowing Ali lightly in time with her next long stride; "You know how to host a party."

"Gut."

"Ja." 

That's just about the full extent of Hope's German, but a smile is usually sufficient, whatever the dialect, and the way that Ali reflects it back at her is breathtaking. She makes Hope feel almost lost, desperate for a means of deflection. "How's your brother?" But Hope just spoke to him an hour ago and clearly he was fine. Quickly, she adds, "I mean, that's pretty cool. Him coming and all."

"Well, I think so. Yeah."

"Family's--" But everything Hope can think to say feels too unnecessary right now. This close to a world cup final, you want to save your serious for what's on the field. This, all of this, was supposed to be about shooting the shit, right? "... they're pretty cool," she finishes lamely, watching as Tobin and Kelley duck and dodge around a rack of clothing in what looks like a quick game of tag. "Your family seems cool."

"Yours too."

If anything, their families probably know each other at least as well as Hope knows her teammates. They've been traveling buddies too, holding each other's hands in the stands or recounting old war stories from the field while huddled in the parking lot before and after games. This conversation is on familiar ground but it's nice having something to retread. Frankfurt might be home to one of them, but here and now Hope is feeling pretty displaced.

"So I guess you're probably busy tonight." It's only now that Hope realizes their arms are still linked together. She feels the warm weight of Ali's hip bumping up against her own and shifts, squirming in her light zip-up jacket. "Dinner with the family?"

"Sure. But after--" 

By now Heather has joined in with the game. She jumps a few times, literally bouncing, and almost knocks over a mannequin as she reaches around it to smack Kelley on the arm. "You're it!" 

"-- after?" 

Tobin tries to run, dodging back, but Alex is there to shove her right back into Kelley. "Hey--" She sputters, and they both laugh. "Hey, what--?"

"After dinner." She's warm and the feel of her fingers against the crook of Hope's elbow is almost heavy. It's persistent and clear. "I'm free then."

"Cheaters," Tobin is shouting. "You're all cheaters!"

"And you'd all be _grounded_ if you were my kids," Christie says with a slight edge in her voice that's close to a warning. Carli's lips move and part, nearly curling in what constitutes a smile for her when not actively saying _cheese_.

"Ja," Hope says, grinning as she whispers conspiratorially close to Ali's ear. "Ja, gut."

*** ***

The plane ride home is nothing like the trip into Germany.

Somehow coming home is always faster than getting to where you'd rather be. That sounds like it should be preferable but staying here on this plane with nineteen other girls who _understand_ is what Hope really wants right now. The glassy look in Abby's eyes must be exactly like her own. At least, Hope has to assume. She hasn't wanted to see her own reflection since passing out the night before. 

She hasn't really wanted to face a lot of things. Losing like that, the way they did, it's like learning there's no Santa Clause. They play their best game of the tournament only to fall flat in the end. And flat is just the word for it: laid flat out on their faces.

This god damn beautiful game.

Pinoe's hair is laying low today and so is she, slumped in her seat with her head resting against Lori's. Their eyes are closed but their breathing hasn't slowed yet. They're awake but wishing they weren't. Hope doesn't blame them; she barely has the strength to face today either. Abby has her headphones on, which is about the same as a do not disturb sign. 

It's probably a good thing that the flight to New York is a long one because the healing process is painfully slow and they've all got to work through their own five stages of grieving before landing for Good Morning America.

Everyone's dealing in their own way, but it makes Hope feel better to look after her defenders. She and Christie talked the night before in low voices punctuated by quiet sighs. She spent most of the time not quite looking Hope in the face, but instead staring vaguely off into a past where confetti dropped down on a team in USA's kit and the capacity crowd at the Rose Bowl roared in response. "Some things," Hope had said, sounding older and wiser than she ever really feels; "even time can't take away."

Buehler was harder to talk to because crying can sometimes be contagious and Hope needs to be the strong one now. "It doesn't get easier," she said, politely ignoring the tears being quickly wiped away. "You just get angrier, and then you get better." With Amy it was all awkward silence and Heather just smiled the entire time in this unnerving way that made Hope think she would have preferred tears. They both know what it's like to not make it out onto the grass, but it's the kind of self-incrimination that's hard to put to words.

This god damn beautiful game, so called because of how it makes your heart ache close to bursting.

But Ali is another matter.

The whole point had been to reach a deeper understanding, to improve communication on the field, but here and now Hope has no idea what to say to make things better for someone who cares so damn much and clearly blames herself. Hope seeks her out on the plane but then just sits quietly one seat away, watching her sleep. And feeling creepier and more intrusive by the second.

Probably better to just fall asleep herself, try to forget that any of this ended as it did. Forget that there was an end at all. This isn't the end of the line after all, only a detour on the very (very, very) long road to a world cup championship. _Four more years_ , she thinks to herself. _Stay focused on the future._

Easier said than done when the now is curled up beside her with frown lines wrinkling across her forehead just between both eyebrows.

Hope can't hold out any longer. She casually bumps her elbow along the arm rest, taking up space and hoping to wake Ali up.

"Mm?"

"Oh, hey," Hope says, feigning surprise. "Sorry. Didn't mean--" But the frown is gone, so she's not really sorry at all. "That was my bad."

Ali is still a little dazed, blinking big eyes slowly and mumbling. "Mmm, okay." She almost starts to slip into sleep again, closing her eyes and yawning, but then she shifts her legs and kicks a little. She squirms and snorts, smiling with eyes closed. "Are we ... there yet?"

"Nah." Hope is sitting close enough that when Ali shifts again, their shins are touching. Ali's leg jogs up and down and their jeans produce a soft sound of friction. "Why? You got big plans that I don't know about?"

"Well..." The drawl in Ali's voice is now devoid of any Germanic accent. Instead it's soft and rounded by fatigue, wet with the careful curving of vowels and clipped consonants against her tongue. "I don't know if you've heard--" She grins, batting her eyelashes and meeting Hope's gaze; "but I'm going to be on TV."

"You don't say."

"Mm, but I do. I do say." She smiles bigger, the expression crinkling at the corner of her eyes. "I say right now."

Ali is another matter, because try as she might, Hope hasn't got a clue what really makes this kid tick. All it seems to take is a little of Hope's undivided attention and she's beaming, like a light switch. Too easy to be understandable. There must be something she's overlooking.

Still, it'd be a damned shame to dim that smile, so Hope is quiet when she says, "Are you okay?"

Ali looks back at her with big unblinking eyes, steady in her sincerity. "Yeah," she whispers, nodding. 

Just past her shoulder, the plane's window is open and pointing to the sky. Hope can see both of their reflections distorted in the fisheye of the glass. She can hear her own breathing and how Ali's sounds so much more level than that, more calm and composed. Hope sighs and tries to smile back, steadying herself with a firm grip on the armrest. "Well, so-- TV, huh?"

"So they tell me."

"Mm." Hope runs her tongue across the rough ridges of her own teeth, watching Ali from the corner of one eye and keeping track of the clouds streaking past with the other. "And is there a time set?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Hope says, sounding scandalized. "But that's so _soon_." She's looking fully at Ali again, clouds and shadow selves forgotten, and for the moment at least the world narrows down to nothing but the tiny points at the corners of Ali's grin.


End file.
